


Harmful Books and the Cultists Who Love Them

by Dracothelizard



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Stealth Crossover, Yuletide 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:38:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie had planned a nice, quiet day at the museum for herself, Ichabod and Jenny.</p><p>A curator who isn't who he claims to be and an Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead are about to ruin all of that.</p><p>But then again, a nice, quiet day was highly unlikely anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harmful Books and the Cultists Who Love Them

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mollivanders](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/gifts).



> When I saw in your Dear Yuletide Author that you had requested both Sleepy Hollow and The Mummy, I knew I had to attempt a crossover of some sorts. I hope you enjoy reading this fic!
> 
> Thanks to damnmydooah for her beta.

Her idea to take Ichabod on a trip to Boston to visit the Museum of Fine Arts had seemed like a better one in Abbie’s head. As they stood in front of the impressive building, she could see that Ichabod’s hands were twitching slightly as he kept looking around.

It was a good thing she hadn’t decided to take him to New York City.

“Are you all right?” she asked, nudging him a little to get his attention. “I thought you were looking forward to this.”

“I do apologise, Miss Mills.” He had been staring at one of the tall buildings in the distance, but turned to her sharply. “But it is very strange to be in Boston again, more than two hundred years after I was here last.”

“A lot has changed, huh?”

“Actually, I am more astonished by how much of it has stayed the same, especially in what you said was the city’s centre. The streets, some of the buildings...” He smiled slightly. “It is nice to know that some things last.”

Jenny, who was waiting for them impatiently, gestured for them to follow her up the steps already. “Speaking of things that last, are we going in or what?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Abbie said, following her sister. She had called Jenny about an hour before she had left with Ichabod, figuring that Jenny would probably turn down the offer. She wasn’t entirely sure why she had invited Jenny in the first place, but the urge to include her had been strong. Besides, it meant there were two people to keep an eye on Ichabod if he wandered off. Sometimes Abbie wondered if she wasn’t better off putting him on a leash.

“When was this museum founded?” Ichabod asked, a few steps behind her.

Abbie shrugged. “I don’t know, 19th century I think.” History hadn’t been her thing until Ichabod had come along. She had never enjoyed the mandatory school trips to various museums in the area, but after everything she and Ichabod had been through over the past few months, the man deserved a treat. From what she had gathered from the museum’s website, there were plenty of exhibitions with things that were historical even to him. They’d just have to avoid anything involving the Revolutionary War and George Washington and it would a nice, peaceful day out.

She didn’t even believe that herself.

*

Once inside, Ichabod took a brochure with a floor plan, and when his eyes widened with excitement, Abbie grabbed his arm before he could walk off. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“The Art of the Americas, of course,” he replied, waving the brochure in her face. “They have an entire collection on Paul Revere. I’d quite like to see it.”

Not on her watch. Knowing Ichabod he would want to correct most of the signs there. “Maybe later,” she lied, and she followed Jenny instead, who was heading towards the collection on the Art of the Ancient World. “Come on, let’s go look at some mummies.”

“Mummies?” Ichabod asked, speeding up now. “Ancient Egyptian mummies?”

“Yes,” Abbie replied. She had to smile at his enthusiasm. “And they’ll probably have vases, statues, tablets with hieroglyphs cursing whoever set foot in the pyramids. The usual.”

Ichabod promptly stopped walking once he was inside the gallery, staring around the exhibits. “Is this... is this all from Egypt?” he asked quietly.

“I think they have some things from Greece and Rome as well, let me check.” She took the brochure from his slack fingers and nodded. “Yeah, they have some of that too. Do you want to see that?” She looked up to find Ichabod inches away from a glass case holding several jars and small statues. He was staring at it, a look of surprise and awe in his eyes. “Crane?”

He didn’t reply.

“Ichabod.” She marched over to him, completely having lost sight of Jenny by now. “Hey.” She nudged him, pleased when he turned to her. “I’m guessing you like Ancient Egypt?”

“Miss Mills, what you said earlier about ‘the usual’, does that mean that this –” He gestured around them at the rest of the exhibits. “Is normal? In a museum?” He actually sounded a little breathless.

“Well, some museums specialise in certain topics,” she explained. “But I think that for the bigger ones who try to cover most eras and parts of the world, it is. Why?”

He briefly turned to the statues he’d been looking at, then walked towards the next room. “And these hieroglyphs?” he asked, pointing at a large stone tablet, also safely behind glass. “They’re translated?”

Abbie caught up with him, and nodded. “Yeah. Didn’t you see the sign?” She moved closer to read it  when Ichabod let out a high-pitched noise of excitement. “What?” Was she going to have to take him to First Aid?

“Translations. Of hieroglyphs,” he managed. “I - How?”

“Right, you better sit down.” She guided him over to one of the benches. “Do you need some water? Are you gonna pass out?”

“Is he all right?”

Abbie looked up to find Jenny standing there, her eyebrow raised as she was looking at Ichabod. “I think he’s really into Ancient Egypt.”

“Translations of hieroglyphs,” he muttered, still staring wide-eyed at the stone tablet. “I don’t believe it. How?”

“The Rosetta Stone,” Jenny supplied. When Ichabod still looked confused, she added, “it’s a large stone with the same text in Egyptian hieroglyphs, Ancient Greek and some other language. I think they found it in the early 19th century.”

While Abbie looked at her sister with surprise, Ichabod looked amazed. “Of course, a find like that would help tremendously! The hieroglyphs had people stumped for ages.”

“Where did you go?” Abbie wanted to know. “Earlier?” And where the hell had Jenny learned that?

“I went to look at some other things,” Jenny replied, shaking her head. “I don’t need your constant supervision, you know.”

Abbie remained quiet as Ichabod stood up, still excited. “Do they have this Rosetta Stone here?”

“No, it’s in some other museum,” Jenny explained.

“Oh.” He was visibly disappointed. “Well, then we will have to visit that museum too, once I’ve seen everything here.”

“Wait, everything?” Abbie asked. That was going to take the entire day, and she hadn’t planned on spending more than a few hours here. “Seriously?” She’d hoped to spend some time walking around Boston, maybe find some areas familiar to Ichabod.

Jenny smiled at Abbie, amused at her sister’s annoyance. “Y’know, at first I wasn’t sure about your plan on going here, but now I think it might be one of your best ideas yet.”

“It most certainly is.” Ichabod was distracted by a set of jars next to the tablet and missed Abbie glaring at Jenny. “We should do this more often.”

“You bet,” Abbie muttered. Still, it was better than chasing after undead creatures.

*

Abbie stared at a decorated vase while on her left, Ichabod was talking to a curator. To her right, Jenny had crouched to look at something on the lower shelf of the glass cabinet.

“And what is your area of expertise?” the curator asked.

“The Revolutionary War,” Ichabod explained cheerfully. “A fascinating period of history, and I will most certainly be visiting your exhibition on it later today. We look forward to it, don’t we, Miss Mills?”

“Hmm?” Abbie turned, looking from Ichabod to the curator. The other man was smiling at her, wearing a button down shirt with a tweed jacket over it, his badge hanging from his breast pocket. “Oh yeah. Great museum.”

“The American Revolutionary War?” the curator asked. “But you’re...” He gestured at Ichabod vaguely. “…British. Shouldn't you be more into that British Civil War of yours?”

Ichabod stood up a little straighter and narrowed his eyes at the other man. “Are you saying that the American Revolutionary War is not allowed hold my interest? Even though without people like – like the British soldiers who fought on the side of the Americans, you might not have won?”

Abbie patted Ichabod on the arm and smiled at the curator. “He’s a little stressed. Jet lag,” she said.

“And technically,” Ichabod continued, ignoring Abbie, “it is called the _English_ Civil War.”

 

Abbie sighed and tuned out Ichabod telling the curator about something called the Act of the Union. She could tell that the curator was becoming more and more annoyed. The man’s eyes were darting around, no doubt looking for a security guard.

“Look, sir, it was an honest mistake, but you have to admit, it is a little unusual for a British historian to take such an interest in the Revolutionary War,” the curator said defensively, crossing his arms.

“Well, perhaps if more British historians had, your depiction of it would’ve been more accurate!” Ichabod huffed.

The curator spluttered at that. “Excuse me?”

“Teaching people that Paul Revere told people that the British were coming! It’s complete nonsense.”

Abbie resisted the urge to facepalm. Maybe taking Ichabod to a museum hadn’t been such a good idea after all. She took a deep breath, ready to grab Ichabod and drag him away. Her hand was already on his arm when Jenny interrupted them.

“Hey, where d’you find this book?”

The curator, after giving Ichabod one last glare, walked around him and Abbie to crouch down next to Jenny. “The silver one?” he asked.

“Don’t,” she whispered to Ichabod, who still looked like he wanted to give the curator a piece of his mind. “Or do you want to get banned from the museum?” She didn’t think that was going to happen, but it was the best threat she could think of right now.

“Of course not,” Ichabod muttered.

Abbie turned to her sister and the curator, grateful that Jenny had thought to ask an interested question to distract the curator. But as she listened to their conversation, she noticed that Jenny was genuinely interested in what the man had to say. And Abbie knew better than anyone when Jenny was paying attention and when she was just amusing you.

“It was found at the Pyramid of Ahm Shere several years ago,” the curator explained. “We have it on loan from the British Museum for a few months. We’re very fortunate.” He gave the book a look Abbie could only describe as loving.

“Pyramid of Ahm what?” Jenny asked, frowning.

“Ahm Shere.” The curator’s pronunciation was slow and careful. “A very interesting site by all accounts. It was long thought to have been lost, and then it is not only found, it also contains many interesting objects such as the Book of the Dead.”

“Book of the Dead?” Abbie couldn’t help asking. She glanced at the book, which was covered in intricate drawings etched in dull silver. Its spine and corners were bronze, and there was a bronze circle on the cover with an eight-pointed star in the centre of it.

The curator got up again, as did Jenny. “Don’t worry, it’s not scary as it sounds.” He laughed. “Most archaeologists think it describes the Ancient Egyptian funeral rites in full detail. A guide to mummification of sorts.”

“You mean you don’t know what’s inside?” she asked, hoping her tone was light and casual.

The curator shook his head, still smiling to himself. “No, no. The Book has yet to be opened. It’s shut tight, and while we could of course force it open, we’d rather not damage such an exquisite piece.” He looked down at the book, reverence in his eyes. “It’s over 5000 years old and has managed to make it undamaged through several disasters, still holding its secrets.” He gave Abbie and Jenny a brief smile. “If that is all, I hope you have a good time here today.” He nodded at them, ignoring Ichabod as he walked away.

“What an insufferable man,” Ichabod muttered.

Abbie was looking at Jenny, whose expression was serious and even a little worried. “What do you know?”

“About the Book of the Dead or Ahm Shere?” Jenny asked, not even struggling with the name now. She gave the objects in the glass casing another glance, then walked away to inspect other exhibits.

Abbie followed her, Ichabod close behind her. “Both,” she said quietly.

“The Book of the Dead isn’t a How To guide to mummies,” Jenny said, carefully looking at the ancient jewellery and necklaces in this part of the exhibit. “It’s a book of spells to resurrect the dead. It’s happened before in the twenties and thirties in Egypt. Corbin had me study a few old cases, and the notes on this one were very detailed. A priest was brought back, and he nearly destroyed Cairo.”

“How did they stop him?” Abbie asked.

Jenny sighed, looking annoyed at having to explain everything. “A spell from the Book of the Living made the priest mortal, and he got stabbed to death.”

“And is this Book of the Living in the Museum?” Ichabod asked.

Jenny shrugged. “I don’t think so. If they had both, they’d be exhibiting them alongside each other.”

“So what are you looking for?” Abbie watched as Jenny moved to the next glass case holding various small objects.

“The key to the Book,” she replied, her dark eyes quickly scanning the content of the glass case. “You saw the cover, right?”

“The eight-pointed star?” Abbie glanced down at the case too. “Is that what we’re looking for?”

Jenny nodded. “You need the key; it’s shaped like a small box that folds out into the star. It opens the Book.”

“If both key and Book were here, that would be of great interest to the Horseman,” Ichabod said quietly.

“The Book can summon an army of warriors too,” Jenny said.

“Great,” Abbie grumbled, closing her eyes briefly. “Undead warriors?”

Jenny gave her a quick nod.

“Do you think the curator knows more?” Ichabod whispered. “He looked rather pleased with himself.”

Abbie was inclined to agree. “He was definitely into that book. I’m going to find a computer and see what I can dig up on the guy.” And maybe call Captain Irving if her searches got her nowhere. She didn’t think he would be happy if an army of undead zombie warriors appeared in Sleepy Hollow or Boston.

“But we don’t even know the guy’s name,” Jenny protested.

Ichabod and Abbie both snorted. “He was wearing his badge,” Abbie said. “His name is Frank Saunders.”

“Sanders,” Ichabod said firmly.

“I’ll try both,” Abbie replied, not wanting to get into an argument. “You two keep looking for that key or the other book or resurrected mummies or anything suspicious.”

“The idea of a resurrected mummy seems preposterous,” Ichabod mused. “They’ve been dead for thousands of years, is there anything left of their bodies to come back?”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Abbie countered.

“Katrina put a spell on me. I highly doubt the same goes for all mummies. It seems to me that if the curator plans on bringing anyone back from the dead, it will be someone recently deceased, not a mummy,” Ichabod explained, nodding at the mummy on display in the museum. “I cannot imagine that moving more than a few feet before crumbling, can you?”

Abbie and Jenny exchanged an amused look. “Crane, let’s make sure you don’t get proven wrong today,” Abbie told him, then left her sister and Ichabod and went in search of a computer. While she could’ve used her phone, this was going to require a bigger monitor and an internet connection that wouldn’t die in the middle of loading a page.

*

An hour later, she hadn't found out anything interesting about the curator, Sanders. There were a few local news articles about exhibits at the museum, usually with an enthusiastic quote from Sanders, a LinkedIn profile, some other social media, plenty of people with the same name, but nothing to indicate that Sanders was involved with witchcraft, magic or strange cults.

Giving up, Abbie called Captain Irving, who wasn't amused when she explained the situation.

“Do you have any evidence that he's actually up to no good?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I think it's worth looking into. If that Book is as powerful as Jenny says it is, I want to know about it.”

The Captain sighed. “I'll see what I can find, Mills.”

“I know it's a long shot, Sir, but I just want to make sure,” she said. A year ago, she would never have put this much effort in this. The Captain was right, they had no evidence whatsoever; just Jenny who happened to recognise the book and Ichabod who didn't like the curator much.

“Don't blame you. Wouldn't be surprised either if someone at the Museum had brought the books over for a reason. I swear, Mills, you and Crane are magnets for this sort of thing.”

She had had the same thoughts herself. “It might be tied to the Horseman or Moloch, we don't know, Sir. I'll let you know if we find anything.”

After hanging up, she sauntered back to the wing where she had left Ichabod and Jenny. It took her a few minutes to find them again.

“Captain Irving's looking into it,” she said. “Find anything?”

“Not yet,” Jenny replied. “But there's still plenty of exhibits we haven't seen yet. Maybe the key is in a completely different wing.”

Ichabod was beaming at her. “We'll have to check the entire museum. Thoroughly.”

Abbie managed a pleasant smile. Yes, she was definitely going to spend the entire day in the museum, and now there was a chance of having to chase after undead creatures after all. Great.

*

She and Jenny had to drag Ichabod out of the exhibition on the Revolutionary War after an hour.

It was for his own good.

*

They were sitting in the restaurant for lunch, Ichabod sulking as he ate his tuna sandwich. “I don't understand why you insist I cannot return to that exhibition,” he said. “I hadn't seen everything, nor did Miss Jenny make sure the key wasn't there.”

“Because if you keep pointing out how historically inaccurate things are, we're gonna draw attention to ourselves,” Abbie replied as she stirred her coffee. “And if something is going on, that's the last thing we want.” She was saved from a further argument when her phone rang. “Yes, Captain?”

“Frank Sanders has been reported missing two days ago by his wife,” came the Captain's voice. He sounded calm, already resigned to whatever today would bring.

Abbie nodded, glancing at Jenny and Ichabod. “Case of identity theft, Sir?”

“Only when it comes to his work at the museum, from the looks of it. There has been no credit card activity, or anything else suspicious. Whatever this guy is doing, Mills, stop him.”

“Will do, Sir,” Abbie replied, and hung up. “The curator is definitely not the real Frank.”

Neither Jenny nor Ichabod looked surprised. “Security's not very tight around here, is it?” Jenny remarked, leaning back in her chair. She glanced around and huffed.

Abbie shared her sister's unimpressedness. “We can deal with that afterwards.”

“What do we do now?” Ichabod asked. “We still haven't ascertained whether or not the key is in the museum. And what do we do if it's not here?”

“Might be the fake curator has it already got it and is just waiting for the right time to open the Book,” Jenny mused.

Abbie knew where this was going. “You wanna hang around here until after closing time, then see what the fake curator is up to?”

Jenny smirked. “Not like we have anything better to do, do we?” She grabbed her blueberry muffin, picking off another piece and eating it. “But Ichabod's right, first we should check the rest of the museum for the key.”

“Might I suggest -”  
  
“We're not going back to look at Paul Revere's silverware.” Abbie gave him a stern look.

Ichabod just smiled at her. “Fortunately I have already seen that.” He sipped his coffee. “And it looked nothing like the teapot and creampot on display here.”

*

They checked the various exhibitions of the museum twice, since they had plenty of time before the place closed.

When it was 4:15, Abbie, Jenny and Ichabod wandered back to the exhibition on Ancient Egypt. The museum would close at 4:45, and Abbie especially wanted to see what the fake Frank Sanders was up to. She watched him from a distance while Ichabod and Jenny made their way past various glass cases again to look for the key.

The fake curator was talking happily to a family of four, gesturing at the mummy excitedly. He kept glancing at the glass case holding the Book of the Dead frequently, and when the family eventually walked on, the curator walked over to the Book, kneeling in front of it and smiling down. His fingers ran down the glass, caressing it almost. Abbie could see his lips move, but she felt no need to move closer and hear what he was saying. This guy was definitely up to something.

*

At 4:30, the curators and security guards were slowly but surely herding the last visitors downstairs and to the exit. Jenny turned to Abbie and raised one eyebrow. “Hide out in the toilets?”

Abbie nodded, and turned to Ichabod. “Come on, the ladies' restrooms on the third floor are in a corner that's pretty easy to miss.”

“That's assuming security will even think to check those,” Jenny muttered, already heading towards the restrooms.

Abbie followed her, then paused when Ichabod stayed where he was. “Crane? You coming with us?”

“I will hide in the gentleman's lavatories, thank you,” he insisted, nodding stiffly.

Oh, like hell she was splitting up now. “It'll be fine, we just need to hide in there for half an hour or something,” she told him. “Besides, there's no one else in there.”

Ichabod kept protesting as he followed her. “It would be most inappropriate for me to even be in there, surely you understand?”

“What I understand is that we are sticking together, just in case,” Abbie insisted, briefly looking around before pushing him into the restroom. There was no one else on the third floor, as she had expected. “Stop complaining.”

*

She eventually got him to hide out in the stall next to hers, Jenny on her other side. Every minute or so, she checked her phone.

“You should've let me buy that local history book in the Gift Shop,” came Ichabod's voice from the other side of the thin wall. “I've memorised the contents of this stall already, and I highly doubt that calling Richard will lead to a good time.”

Abbie sighed again. It wasn't very comfortable, sitting on the toilet seat, her legs pulled up and her feet resting against the wall. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Next time we're hiding out, I'll let you bring a book.” She looked at her phone. No further messages from the Captain. They were on their own.

“Both of you be quiet,” Jenny whispered. “D'you want us to get caught?”

“Of course not,” Ichabod hissed back. “I was merely pointing out how dull our current surroundings are.”

Abbie eyed the wall separating her from Jenny. “What're you doing in there?” she asked. Jenny telling them to be quiet was the first she had said in fifteen minutes.

“Completing two more levels of Candy Crush,” Jenny replied. “Told you buying me a phone was worth it.”

Abbie closed her eyes for a moment. “That isn't why I bought you a phone.”

“Still worth it.”

She was never bringing her sister and Ichabod to a museum ever again.

*

Another fifteen minutes later, Abbie declared it time to head out. Ichabod looked visibly relieved when they left the restrooms, shuddering slightly as he walked out the door.

The museum was a lot darker, and they carefully made their way down the stairs, listening for security guards making their rounds. While Abbie's opinion of the guards was already pretty low, it was even lower when they made their way to the Ancient Egyptian exhibit without seeing any trace of them. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

“I agree, even if it is rather convenient,” Ichabod said quietly, his eyes darting around as they softly walked through the first room.

Abbie held up her hand to signal they should be quiet when she peeked around a corner. The fake curator was carefully reaching into the opened glass case, his trembling hands reaching for the Book of the Dead. She rolled her eyes when both Ichabod and Jenny leaned past her to see for themselves what was going on.

“He has the key,” Jenny muttered, glaring at nothing in particular.

Abbie had noticed something bulky in the fake curator’s tweed jacket pocket too. “Let's get closer.” She moved around the sarcophagus holding the mummy, planning on approaching the fake curator from the right. She gestured for Ichabod to move in from the left. Jenny, as usual, ignored Abbie's gestures and went her own way, taking the long way round by crossing the room quietly and sneaking into another room, planning on approaching the cultist from the back. The man only had eyes for his Book, caressing its cover.

She reached for her badge, wishing she had her gun with her, but the badge would do. They were here in time to stop him from opening the Book, and she didn't think undead mummy warriors would be impressed by her gun anyway.

The silence in the museum was broken by the loud noise of something metallic falling to the floor, and Abbie ducked down behind the sarcophagus. In the other room Jenny had gone into, brochures were fluttering to the floor.

“Who's there?” the fake curator called out, clutching the Book of the Dead to his chest.

This wasn't how she had wanted to do this, but there was nothing for it. Abbie stood up, flashing her badge. “I'm Lieutenant Abbie Mills, and you are under arrest.”  
  
The man's eyes went from her to Ichabod, and he stepped back. His free hand went into his jacket pocket, and he pulled out an eight-pointed star. “You're too late,” he said, grinning widely. “Soon, you will all be dead.”

“Sir, please put down the Book and that key.” Abbie stepped closer, watching Ichabod do the same.

“Never,” the cultist replied, shaking his head. He placed the key on the book and something clicked as he turned it, the hinges holding the book closed slowly opening.

“We must strongly urge you to stop now,” Ichabod said, walking closer and already holding out one hand. “You do not know what powers you are invoking.”

“Oh, I do.” The man's eyes were wild now. “It seems to me that you are the ignorant ones if you think you can stop me.” He dropped the Key to the floor, and reached inside his jacket to pull out a small gun.

That was definitely putting a damper on Abbie's plan to tackle him to the floor.

“Sir, I have already contacted the local police force. They will be here soon,” Abbie lied.

The man just laughed. “You think mere mortal weapons can defeat me and my brethren? You should be honoured to be here. The first to die. The first sacrifices.”

Abbie was going to argue with that, anything to keep the cultist distracted and from summoning undead mummies, but then Jenny ran from the room she'd been hiding in, behind him, her eyes triumphant as she tackled him to the floor. The Book fell from his hands, sliding across the floor. Ichabod grabbed it, picking it up and closing it quickly while Abbie ran over to her sister. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“Miss Jenny, you could've damaged this!” Ichabod ran his fingers down the spine of the Book, turning it over. “This is a priceless artefact!”

“You could've got hurt, he had a gun, Jenny!”

Jenny looked up at her sister as she straddled the man's back, struggling to hold his wrists. “If you're both done complaining, d'you think you can maybe give me a hand?”

Abbie pulled out her handcuffs. “I can do you one better than that.” She was definitely going to have a talk with Jenny about personal safety.

The cultist was still trying to get at the Book. “No, give it back! It belongs to me and my brethren!”

“What brethren?” Ichabod asked, holding the Book tight.

“They will come after you,” he said, and he grinned. “You will never be safe again.”

Abbie wasn't impressed, and with Jenny's help, it was easy to cuff the man's hands behind his back.

“You wanna stick around and deal with the police?” Jenny asked, in a tone that suggested she certainly didn’t.

“I probably should, shouldn't I?” Abbie looked down at the cultist, who was now glaring sullenly at Ichabod and the Book. “And you should probably put that back,” she told Ichabod.

He nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Abbie sat down on the floor next to the cultist. “Just so you know,” she told him, “you have ruined my day.”

*

The local police arrived within minutes and dealt with the cultist efficiently, taking statements from Ichabod, Abbie and even Jenny, who insisted she had only stayed because Abbie had driven them up there.

They were eventually allowed to leave, after promising to be available for further information, and they headed to a nearby bar that was still serving dinner. “You know, witches and demons are one thing, but mummies?” Abbie took a long sip from her beer. “I am drawing the line at that. Before you know it, we'll be dealing with vampires and werewolves.”

“Any undead creature could be of use to Moloch's cause,” Ichabod replied solemnly. “Today has only shown us that we must always be aware of danger.”

“And that we need to keep an eye on that museum.” And probably other museums too. Oh God, she was going to spend the rest of her life in museums. Maybe even antique stores. “Make sure no one else tries to open that Book of the Dead.”

Jenny smiled and ate one of her fries. “I'm not too worried about that.”

“You're not?” Abbie asked, surprised. Jenny was the only one of them who really seemed to know what the Book could do.

“No. Because if that guy's brethren want to open the book, they're gonna have to use this.” Jenny reached into her jacket, and put the eight-pointed star on the table. “I hope I can get it back to looking like a box.” She leaned closer, and poked the base.

“Jenny,” Abbie said, forcing herself to sound calm. “Did you steal that?”

“Oh, well, if you _want_ me to give it back, I can -”

“No,” Abbie immediately said. “No, definitely not. But that is – that's evidence, Jenny.”

Ichabod looked uncomfortable too. “While I approve of your initiative to separate Book and key, Miss Jenny, it does belong in a museum.”

“Look, the police didn't know the guy had it, the Museum didn't know it was there,” Jenny argued, still prodding the key. “Where's the harm?”

Abbie hated to admit it, but Jenny had a fair point. “Fine. But if you get any crazy cult members after you, I told you so.”

Jenny smiled, and nodded. “Deal.” She continued her investigation of the puzzlebox, while Abbie was more interested in her burger and fries.

“There is one thing that I don't understand,” Ichabod said pensively.

“Just one?” Abbie flashed him a brief smile.

“Most amusing,” he muttered. “No, what I don't understand is where the aliens were in the museum.”

Abbie's hand froze a few inches away from her open mouth, fry dangling from her fingers. “The aliens? What aliens?”

“Oh, surely you know? The ones who taught the Ancient Egyptians how to build pyramids,” Ichabod told her. “And Stonehenge. I must say, I always did wonder how people in those days built structures like that.”

“Jenny,” Abbie said, without even turning to her sister, “what did you do?”

“What? He likes history.” Jenny was grinning now. “I showed him the History Channel. Figured he'd like it.”

“I do indeed, Miss Jenny. It is certainly more informative than your innernet,” he said, gesturing dismissively at Abbie.

Abbie was massaging her temples. “Ichabod, aliens did not build the pyramids.”

“Well, of course they didn't.”

Good, good, Ichabod had enough sense to know Ancient Aliens was a load of bullshit.

“They had genetically engineered human slaves to do that for them.”

Abbie opened her eyes to glare at a happily smiling Ichabod and a Jenny who was biting her lip as she pretended to only have eyes for the key she was fiddling with. “Sure. Sure they did.”

“It may very well be that Moloch is actually an alien, Miss Mills. I think we should keep that possibility in mind.”

She tilted her head, suspicious now. “You really think so?” He wasn’t meeting her eyes as he drank from his beer.

Ichabod looked pleased as he put his glass down. “No, but I had you fooled, didn’t I?”

“Only for a minute,” she replied, eating a couple of fries.

“Aliens building Stonehenge,” he scoffed. “The entire idea is preposterous.”

“As preposterous as bringing mummies back to life?” Abbie was very glad that they had stopped the cultist in time. “You said it yourself, undead creatures are useful to Moloch.”

Ichabod shook his head. “Agreed, but I cannot see how. A mummy, even a well-preserved one, is too dry, too old to move. Besides, I read one of the signs on mummification. How can a mummy move when its brain is removed, hm?”

Abbie had to admit he had a logical point, but they all knew logic only went so far when it came to Horseman. “You know what? I am gonna get you some classic old horror movies with mummies, and we’re gonna watch them. Then you’ll think twice before dismissing ‘em like that.”

She really didn’t want to have tell Ichabod ‘I told you so’ one day when a mummy came after them for real.


End file.
